BERMUDA  IN  BLOCKADE  TIMES 
R  allock 


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philanthropic  Ibocietietf 


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BERMUDA    IN    BLOCKADE   TIMES. 


By   Charles  Hallock. 


THE  Bermuda  Islands  constitute  the 
most  charming  winter  resort  im- 
aginable. Everything  about  them 
is  complete,  neat,  finished,  refined,  and 
agreeable.  There  are  no  nuisances,  noth- 
ing noxious,  no  snakes,  no  morasses,  no 
disagreeable  insects.  The  hotels  are  con- 
venient and  comfortable,  society  of  a 
high  order,  and  the  lower  classes  tract- 
able, harmless,  and  cleanly,  as  a  rule. 
The  tout  ensemble  is  as  if  everything  had 
been  newly  whitewashed,  and  was  spick- 
span  new  and  clean.  No  wonder  it  is  the 
favorite  resort  of  visitors  who  have  be- 
come informed  of  its  peculiar  charms, 
who  have  enjoyed  its  balmy  breezes,  its 
fruits,  its  fishing,  and  its  drives. 

Some  reminiscences  of  the  islands  in 
the  old  Confederate  times  cannot  fail  to 
be  interesting  to  survivors  of  that  event- 
ful period,  especially  to  those  who  bore 
some  active  part  in  its  varying  fortunes 
and  enterprises. 

Previous  to  the  Southern  Rebellion, 
Bermuda  was  comparatively  unknown  to 
the  world,  except  as  an  important  British 
naval  station.  No  startling  episode  in 
the  great  concatenation  of  events  had 
occurred  for  many  years  to  disturb  the 
tranquil  repose  of  her  many  peaceful 
islands.  Far  out  and  alone  in  the  broad 
Atlantic,  like  some  beautiful  recluse,  she 
woed  the  soft  winds  of  summer,  or  bared 
her  breast  to  the  autumnal  gales  that 
wreathed  her  reefs  and  bald  bluffs  with 
foam.  Monthly,  the  packet  passing  to 
and  fro  between  St.  Thomas  and  Halifax, 
and  touching  there,  aroused  her  from  her 
Rip  Van  Winkle  sleep ;  and  when  the 
few  hours'  bustle  at  the  wharf  had  ceased, 
when  the  mail  coach  that  ran  from  the 
hither  point  to  the  extremity  of  the 
islands  had  dispensed  its  favors  along  the 
circuitous  route,  and  the  little  budget  of 
news  and  epistolary  missives  had  been 
duly  digested,  she  lapsed  again  into  the 
quiet  of  her  daily  routine.  Her  small 
farmers    cultivated    arrowroot,    tomatoes, 


onions,  and  potatoes  to  a  limited  extent 
only  (for  her  negroes  had  grown  negligent 
and  thriftless  under  the  license  of  their 
freedom,)  and  an  occasional  craft  dropped 
into  her  landlocked  bays  to  bear  her 
vegetable  tributes  to  the  markets  of  the 
North.  And  when  the  people  of  colder 
climes  ate,  in  the  early  spring  time,  of 
her  luscious  bananas""  and  those  other 
luxuries  so  acceptable  because  so  out  of 
season,  they  thought  kindly  of  Bermuda, 
and  many  an  invalid  went  out  to  breathe 
the  genial  air  of  her  winter  months. 
Tourists,  too,  have  sketched  the  charms 
of  her  cedar-covered  islets,  with  their 
ever-changing  outlines,  and  once  the 
graceful  pen  of  the  romantic  and  now 
lamented  Willis  essayed  the  pleasing 
task ;  but  his  eyes  were  dazed  by  the 
glare  of  her  white  limestone  roads  and 
snowy  cottages  and  cliffs,  and  so  he 
hastened  home  and  never  did  full  justice 
to  Bermuda. 

But  suddenly  a  new  era  dawned  upon 
the  islands.  A  marvellous  change  came 
over  the  sleepy  realm ;  the  spell  that 
bound  the  enchanted  isle  was  broken- 
The  war  in  America  crowded  her  ports, 
with  shipping  and  awakened  the  echoes, 
of  busy  trade  and  commerce,  which 
frightened  the  hobgoblins  from  the  caves 
which  they  had  tenanted  since  Shakes- 
peare sang  the  tale  of  "  vexed  Bermoe- 
thes "  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago. 
The  blockade  of  the  southern  ports  threw 
into  her  lap  rare  treasures,  to  which  her 
eyes  had  been  unaccustomed  before  ;  and 
often  upon  her  deep,  transparent  waters 
were  seen  what  looked  like  clots  of  foam, 
but  which  were  really  stray  waifs  of  cot- 
ton floating  —  cotton  worth  two  shillings 
sterling  per  pound.  Ah,  what  golden 
harvests  were  reaped,  what  mighty  risks 
were  run  for  this  same  cotton  in  those 
old  blockading  days  !  It  seemed  as- 
though  wealth  came  down  in  showers, 
upon  Bermuda.  It  blessed  all  in  any- 
way   connected    with    the    blockade.     It 


338 


BERMUDA   IN  BLOCKADE    TIMES. 


blessed  the  adventurers  of  high  and  low 
degree,  who  gathered  there  from  the 
four  quarters  of  the  globe  to  speculate 
upon  the  national  misfortune  ;  it  blessed 
the  grasping  Englishman,  the  southern 
renegade,  the  deserter  from  the  North, 
and  the  mercenaries  and  sharpers  of  all 
colors  and  persuasions  alike.  The  em- 
ployees of  blockade-runners  received 
fabulous  wages  —  captains,  $2,500  in 
gold  per  round  trip,  which  never  ex- 
ceeded a  month,  and  was  sometimes 
made  in  a  week;  pilots,  $1,500;  engi- 
neers, coal-heavers,  and  seamen,  in  pro- 
portion. The  capitalists  who  invested 
in  the  venture  seldom  failed  to  make 
fortunes,  notwithstanding  the  large  per- 
centage of  steamers  lost  or  captured  ;  for 
the  gains  were  so  immense  that  one  suc- 
cessful voyage  made  up  the  loss  of  half  a 
dozen  failures.  They  fared  sumptuously 
every  day  upon  the  profits  which  they 
sheared  from  the  poverty  and  distress  of 
those  who  bore  the  burden  of  the  war. 
Their  steamers  were  supplied  with  the 
luxuries  of  every  clime.  The  cabin 
tables  were  spread  with  sparkling  wines 
and  choicest  viands.  The  pinched  Con- 
federates, whom  three  lingering  years  of 
war  had  reduced  to  rags  or  homely 
homespun,  looked  with  envious  eyes  upon 
the  sleek,  well-dressed  blockade-runners 
who  sauntered  through  their  streets  at 
will,  while  they  themselves  were  in  con- 
stant dread  of  prevost-marshals  and  con- 
scripting-officers.  They  gloated  upon  the 
glittering  gold  which  strangers  lavished 
and  despised  their  own  paper  dollar,  which 
would  hardly  buy  a  row  of  pins.  The 
invalids  who  sweltered  and  thirsted  in 
the  hospitals  were  thankful  for  the  boon  of 
a  little  ice  which  they  chanced  to  receive 
from  some  vessel's  chest  at  Charleston  or 
Wilmington.  It  seemed  to  the  strug- 
gling South  as  if  the  steamers  were  the 
only  link  between  their  present  world  of 
despair  and  a  realm  of  happiness  beyond  ; 
and  when,  at  intervals,  they  steamed 
swiftly  up  to  its  deserted  ports,  their  ad- 
vent was  always  welcomed  with  delight. 

On  such  occasions  there  was  some  sem- 
blance in  those  same  ports  —  of  Charles- 
ton or  Wilmington  —  of  the  commercial 
activity  in  the  bygone  days  of  peace. 
Negroes  bustled  about  the  wharves,  and 


the  incessant  clatter  of  the  donkey  engines 
was  heard,  discharging  freight  which  long- 
tailed  drays  carted  leisurely  away.  How- 
ever, excepting  these  and  the  seamen, 
only  a  few  old  men  and  youngsters  of 
various  hues  sauntered  about  the  spot. 
The  streets  were  quite  deserted,  except 
by  the  provost  guard,  an  occasional 
female  in  mourning  garb,  or  a  crippled 
soldier  hobbling  on  his  way.  There  was 
an  oppressive  sense  of  desolation  every- 
where, such  as  one  feels  in  an  old  mill 
where  the  machinery,  long  since  silenced, 
has  gone  to  rust,  with  rank  moss  grown 
on  the  water-wheel,  and  the  weather-worn 
roof  opening  to  the  sky.  In  the  market, 
a  brace  of  lean  fowl  and  a  half-dozen 
slimy  catfish  patiently  waited  a  purchaser. 
At  Wilmington,  an  old  scow  ferried  oc- 
casional passengers  over  the  river  to  the 
dilapidated  buildings  opposite.  All  around 
the  railroad  depot,  broken  machinery,  old 
cannons,  and  merchandise  were  strewn. 
Three  or  four  used-up  locomotives  were 
in  perpetual  hospital  at  the  round-house, 
and  a  wheezy  old  engine,  with  steam  es- 
caping at  every  joint,  had  just  struggled 
in  with  the  "  express  train,"  or  half  a 
dozen  leaky  cars,  at  a  maximum  speed 
of  five  miles  an  hour.  No  smoke  issued 
from  the  chimneys  of  the  hamlet  on  the 
neighboring  knoll,  for  its  owner  was  long 
since  killed  in  the  war,  and  the  women 
of  the  family  had  moved  away.  Lean 
cranes  flapped  lazily  up  from  among  the 
rank  weeds  and  cat-tails  that  grew  in 
the  abandoned  ricefields.  White  people 
were  out  at  their  elbows  and  toes,  and 
the  negroes  wore  fragments  of  Federal 
uniforms,  which  had  been  stripped  from 
battlefields.  Buzzards  seldom  vouchsafed 
their  once  familiar  presence,  for  they  had 
long  since  followed  their  scents  to  the 
richer  banquets  near  Chancellorsville  and 
Chattanooga.  Cotton,  which  had  been 
brought  from  its  hiding-places  in  the  in- 
terior, lay  piled  in  vast  quantities  in  sheds 
and  in  the  open  air.  In  places  it  was 
strewn  knee-deep,  where  the  bagging  had 
burst  open,  rotted  by  long  exposure. 
Huge  masses  of  rosin,  melted  and  run 
together  and  mingled  with  hoops  and 
staves,  were  encountered  on  every  side. 
What  wealth  lay  wasting  here,  while  the 
world  was  suffering  for  the  want  of  it ! 


BERMUDA   IN  BLOCKADE    TIMES. 


339 


Such  was  the  melancholy  picture.  At 
the  steamers'  offices,  however,  there  was 
always  some  stir  ;  and  when  an  auction 
sale  of  blockade  goods  was  advertised, 
something  of  a  crowd  was  collected.  All 
the  Jews  swarmed  there  from  far  and 
near,  like  flies  around  the  bung  of  a  sugar 
cask,  wrangling  with  each  other  and 
scrambling  for  the  prizes  offered  ;  these 
worthies  owed  no  allegiance,  except  to 
Moses,  and  consequently  were  exempt 
from  military  service.  Large  prices  were 
paid  in  Confederate  scrip  for  coffee, 
medicines,  shoes,  and  the  rest ;  and  with 
the  proceeds  the  blockade-runners  pur- 
chased the  coveted  cotton  at  S250  per 
bale.  When  the  blockade  business  was 
at  its  climax,  Confederate  money  was 
worth  about  S14  for  $1  in  gold;  and  as 
the  cotton  brought  from  45  to  50  cents 
per  pound  in  Bermuda,  the  profit  on  a 
single  bile  was  S230  ! 

Sometimes  as  many  as  a  dozen  steam- 
ers were  in  the  port  of  Wilmington  at 
once.  In  general  they  loaded  leisurely, 
because  they  had  to  wait  their  opportu- 
'  nity.  It  was  only  when  the  night  was 
moonless,  and  the  tide  full  on  the  bar 
that  they  could  hope  to  run  the  blockade 
with  success.  The  "  silvery  moon  "  had 
no  chirm  for  blockade  runners  ;  rather, 
come  storm  and  angry  wrack  of  wind  and 
wives.  Occasiomllv,  three  or  four  would 
run  out  together,  dividing  the  attention 
of  the  ever-vigilant  blockading  cruisers ; 
but  as  a  rule,  each  attempted  the  perilous 
gauntlet  alone.  Often  they  failed  upon 
the  very  threshold  of  their  adventure,  and 
the  anxious  owners  on  shore  received 
early  intimation  of  their  probable  fate  in 
the  dull  boom  of  guns  that  was  wafted 
from  Fort  Fisher,  thirty  miles  below.  It 
was  a  bold  act,  worthy  of  brave  men,  to 
attempt  that  bristling  cordon  of  Federal 
ships  in  an  unarmed,  inoffensive  craft. 
Women  often  did  it,  too  ;  but  women  can 
be  brave  even  when  men's  courage  quails. 

We  can  imagine  one  of  these  long  and 
rakish  steamers  lying  in  the  stream  oppo- 
site the  cotton-sheds,  where  she  has  been 
loading ;  a  jaunty  craft  with  graceful 
lines,  appointments  all  complete,  and 
color  so  like  the  dusk  that  at  nightfall  she 
seems  like  a  doubtful  shadow  upon  the 
water.     The   thin  cloud  of  brown  smoke 


that  floats  from  her  funnel,  and  the  merry 
"  Heave-yo "  at  the  windlass,  betoken 
that  she  is  getting  under  way.  Her  flags 
are  flaunting  gayly  —  a  Confederate  at  the 
stem,  a  British  at  the  stern.  There  is  a 
group  of  women  and  children  on  her 
quarter-deck,  and,  but  for  the  long  rows 
of  cotton  bales  that  peer  over  her  rails, 
one  might  imagine  that  she  was  engaged 
for  a  pleasure  excursion  down  the  river, 
—  only  that  it  was  not  customary  for  offi- 
cers in  uniform  to  demand  passports  of 
mere  excursionists.  Male  passengers  are 
scarce,  for  the  gates  of  the  Confederacy 
are  closed  to  such.  Beside  a  couple  of 
Jews,  there  are  an  invalid  and  a  cripple  ; 
also  two  nondescripts,  whom  the  provost 
guard,  the  shippers,  the  negroes  on  shore, 
their  fellow-passengers,  and  the  examin- 
ing officers,  have  repeatedly  passed  opin- 
ion upon  as  to  whether  they  were  de- 
serters, Yankee  spies,  correspondents  of 
the  London  "  Times,"  government  offi- 
cials, or  agents  of  the  government  depart- 
ing on  secret  service.  However,  they  are 
both  thoroughly  "  papered,"  and  no  ob- 
jection can  be  made.  Their  passports 
are  from  headquarters  at  Richmond,  and 
duly  vised  by  the  commanding  officer  at 
Wilmington. 

There  is  very  little  vivacity  on  board. 
A  feeling  of  uncertainty  pervades  all. 
Friends  part  with  tremulous  hand- shak- 
ings. Those  who  command  the  craft 
know  well  the  dangers  that  attend  the 
voyage  and  the  risk  that  hangs  over  their 
rich  freight  of  half  a  million.  Many  a 
lady's  bosom  heaves  with  throbbing  heart 
and  breath  suppressed,  even  while  gliding 
securely  past  the  ricefields,  marshes,  and 
belts  of  timber  that  girt  the  river  bank. 
Wilmington  gradually  fades  from  view. 
The  sun  settles  down  upon  the  red 
horizon.  An  ironclad,  struggling  against 
the  current,  is  passed  and  left  astern. 
The  steamer  picks  her  way  through  tor- 
tuous channels,  successive  obstructions 
of  piles  stretched  across  the  river,  and 
labyrinths  of  torpedoes,  marked  by  flag- 
buoys.  Down  near  the  mouth  of  the 
river  there  is  a  battery,  and  from  a  cutter 
that  has  put  out  from  shore  a  lieutenant, 
with  his  guard,  clambers  over  the  ship's 
side,  to  search  for  stowaways  and  examine 
passports  again.     Every  nook  and  corner, 


340 


BERMUDA   IN  BLOCKADE    TIMES. 


every  locker  and  pantry  is  searched  this 
time.  Even  the  hold  and  coal-bunkers 
are  fumigated  to  smoke  out  any  who  per- 
chance may  have  concealed  themselves 
there.  When  these  trials  have  been  en- 
dured, the  steamer  increases  speed  and 
proceeds  on  her  course  to  the  broad  and 
placid  sound  that  is  sheltered  by  the  bar. 
There  she  rests  at  anchor  and  awaits  the 
protecting  shades  of  night.  Here  there 
is  no  danger.  The  bristling  guns  of  Fort 
Fisher  and  the  Mound  Battery,  and  the 
shoal  water  on  the  bar  afford  double  pro- 
tection. The  blockading  fleet  lies  miles 
away  outside.  Perhaps  from  the  mast- 
head the  outlines  of  one  or  two  of 
them  can  be  indistinctly  traced  —  noth- 
ing more. 

As  dusk  falls,  a  little  boat  puts  out  from 
land.  This  brings  the  indispensable 
pilot,  who  at  once  becomes  grand  master 
of  the  ship.  Everything  depends  upon 
his  skill,  and  implicit  obedience  to  his 
directions.  He  has  the  path  before  him 
all  mapped  out,  and  can  tell  the  number 
and  latest  position  of  every  blockader  off 
the  adjacent  coast.  He  has  carefully 
noted  the  stage  of  water,  marked  the 
channel,  set  his  signal  lights,  and  ar- 
ranged the  indispensable  preliminaries  of 
the  trip.  At  length  the  last  glimmer  of 
twilight  has  vanished.  A  perceptible 
haze  gathers  upon  the  ocean.  Every 
light  in  the  ship  is  carefully  extinguished. 
The  binnacle  is  enveloped  with  canvas. 
Telegraph  lines  are  rigged  fore  and  aft,  to 
communicate  from  the  pilot  forward  to 
the  officer  who  directs  the  helmsman  at 
the  wheel.  The  lookouts,  the  captain 
and  subordinate  officers  take  their  respec- 
tive places.  Presently  a  deep  sigh  comes 
from  the  ponderous  engine,  and  a  tremor 
runs  through  the  vessel  as  she  gathers 
headway  and  snuffs  the  fresh  breeze  that 
comes  from  the  ocean.  Strictest  silence 
is  enjoined  now.  Not  a  whisper  is  heard. 
Even  the  plash  of  the  patent  paddle- 
wheels  (  never  very  noisy  )  is  drowned 
by  the  monotonous  sough  of  the  breaking 
waves.  The  funnels  emit  no  vapors  or 
tell-tale  sparks.  The  lights  on  shore 
change  rapidly  with  the  varying  course. 
A  red  lantern  flashes  for  an  instant  to 
starboard  and  then  goes  out,  just  where  a 
glimpse  was  caught  of  a   cloaked  figure 


seated  in  a  skiff.  A  pale,  white  light 
gleams  on  the  larboard  side.  A  brighter 
one  blazes  from  Fort  Fisher  in  the  dis- 
tance. And  thus  the  course  is  laid  over 
the  bar.  The  speed  of  the  vessel  in- 
creases as  the  hour  of  trial  approaches, 
and  the  lights  afloat  and  ashore  flit  and 
intermingle  with  a  rapidity  that  confuses 
the  senses.  Presently  the  swash  and  long 
swell  of  the  sea  denote  that  the  bar  is 
passed,  and  the  lights,  now  grown  faint 
and  spectral,  seem  to  keep  pace  with  the 
vessel  as  she  lays  her  course  along  the 
coast. 

The  novice  sits  aft  with  bated  breath 
and  his  heart  in  his  throat,  a  desperate 
grip  upon  some  stanchion,  and  his  eyes 
straining  far  out  into  the  gloom,  while, 
with  a  sinking  sensation  like  being  twirled 
in  a  swing,  he  is  hurried  through  space 
at  a  speed  of  twenty  miles  an  hour,  over 
billows  of  phosphorescence  that  roll  off 
into  the  wake  behind.  The  silence  is 
oppressive,  and  the  suspense  painful. 
But  presently  a  new  object  of  interest' 
absorbs  attention.  Can  you  see  nothing 
—  there  — just  where  the  gleam  of  that 
brilliant  star  flashed  on  the  foam  ?  Pshaw  ! 
'tis  mere  fancy.  The  shadaws  always  fall 
deepest  where  the  dull  gray  of  the  ocean 
blends  with  the  sky.  It  is  the  loom  of 
the  mist,  nothing  more.  And  yet  there 
is  something  that  flits  like  a  shadow,  mov- 
ing a?  we  move — an  undefined  nebula 
without  shape  or  substance,  ever  attend- 
ant, like  an  incubus  that  oppresses  one 
in  dreams.  Ha  !  this  is  exciting  !  What 
tension  of  taut-drawn  nerves  !  What  if 
it  should  be  one  of  them  !  We  are  draw- 
ing a  little  ahead  of  the  thing  now. 
Surely  it  is  a  blockader,  and  one  of  the 
fleetest,  too.  <  Her  scent  is  keen.  These 
lights  on  shore  betray  us  whenever  we  run 
between  them  and  her.  If  we  could  only 
head  her  off  now  and  stand  out  to  sea  ! 
But  not  yet !  See  !  she  burns  a  blue 
light, —-and  how  it  streams  over  the 
waves  !  And  there  goes  a  rocket !  We 
can  see  her  plainly  enough  now — as 
plainly  as  she  can  us  —  and  so  near,  just 
on  our  port  bow  !  We  are  lost  beyond 
hope ;  yet  the  ladies  are  calm  and  mo- 
tionless, and  the  children  are  sleeping 
quietly  below.  Ha  !  there  it  comes  —  a 
shot.     "  Take  care  !  "     There  is  a   daz- 


BERMUDA   IN  BLOCKADE    TIMES. 


341 


zling  glare  like  a  flash  of  sheet  lightning, 
a  deafening  roar  from  the  guns,  and  all  is 
gloom  again.  The  blue  light  has  burned 
out.  "  Any  one  hurt  ?  Were  we  struck  ?  ' ' 
"  No."  "  All  right ;  pitch  in  the  rosin, 
engineer,  and  shove  ahead  !  Hard-a- 
starboard  there  at  the  helm  !  "  There  is 
no  occasion  for  further  silence  now.  It 
is  simply  a  question  of  superior  speed. 
The  swift  craft  doubles  on  her  track  like 
a  swallow,  and  stands  directly  out  to  sea. 
In  ten  minutes  she  is  safe.  Still,  the 
engines  do  not  cease  their  effort,  but  all 
night  long  she  leaves  the  coast  at  swiftest 
speed,  outward  bound  for  Bermuda. 
Vigilance  is  not  relaxed.  By  day  there 
are  lookouts  stationed  aloft,  and  every 
craft  like  a  steamer  is  carefully  shunned  ; 
at  night,  again,  lights  are  out  as  before  ; 
and  so,  day  after  day,  until  at  length  the 
tall  beacon  on  Bermoethes  flashes  out  its 
friendly  blaze,  the  steamer  runs  in  under 
the  rocky  shore,  and  the  rattle  of  the 
cable  over  the  bows  tells  that  she  is  safely 
anchored  in  the  roadstead. 

In  the  early  morning,  with  a  negro 
pilot  on  board,  the  vessel  steams  tortu- 
ously through  narrow  channels  among 
picturesque  islands, — some  bald  and  wave- 
worn,  and  others  crowned  with  snowy 
cottages  nestling  in  groves  of  cedar,  with 
weather-stained  ruins  and  grim  martello 
towers  from  which  great  cannon  bristle, — 
and  rounding  a  point  abruptly,  comes  at 
once  in  full  view  of  the  romantic  port  of 
St.  George's,  with  its  crowded  shipping, 
its  white  and  yellow  limestone  houses,  its 
tropical  trees,  with  their  great  broad 
leaves,  its  many  skiffs  and  row-boats  pass- 
ing to  and  fro,  and  the  grand  old  hill 
behind,  with  its  signal-station  and  frown- 
ing battery.  There  the  blockade-runner, 
had  no  fear  of  Federal  cruisers,  albeit 
their  ports  might  yawn  and  cannon  bristle 
within  pistol  range. 

At  only  one  other  spot  on  the  globe 
could  be  seen  in  those  days  the  same 
commercial  features  that  made  Bermuda 
attractive  to  those  interested  in  keeping 
open  the  outlet  for  cotton.  As  at  Nassau, 
so  here,  the  attention  of  the  stranger 
entering  the  harbor  was  at  once  attracted 
to  the  sharp  and  graceful  outlines  of  the 
numerous  lead-colored  steamers  that  lay 
at  anchor  in  the  stream  or  moored  along- 


side the  wharves ;  and  among  all  the 
miscellaneous  shipping,  but  two  flags 
were  conspicuous  —  the  cross  of  St. 
George  and  the  Rebel  flag,  the  one  with 
its  crimson  field  and  the  other  with  its 
field  of  snowy  white.  The  Stars  and 
Stripes  were  not  numerous,  for  fear  of 
Rebel  cruisers  had  induced  the  Federal 
vessels  to  seek  the  protecting  aegis  of  the 
British  flag.  On  shore,  long  lines  of  cot- 
ton bales  lay  piled  upon  the  wharves ; 
vessels  bound  to  trans-Atlantic  ports  were 
busily  loading  with  the  precious  staple  ; 
gangs  of  stalwart  blacks  sweltered  in  the 
sun  as  they  plied  their  cotton  hooks. 
Then,  if  ever,  the  negroes  of  Bermuda 
had  fallen  upon  "  flush  times."  A  crown 
was  as  easily  earned  as  a  shilling  used  to 
be.  Boating  seemed  to  be  the  favorite 
employment  of  both  sexes.  Fleets  of 
skiffs  and  small  craft  of  all  descriptions 
thronged  like  bees  around  a  newly  ar- 
rived ship.  Negroes  of  every  size  and 
hue  clung  to  her  sides  and  clambered  up 
the  rigging,  anxious  to  earn  a  sixpence 
by  putting  passengers  ashore.  Ebony 
Venuses,  in  short  frocks  and  palm-leaf 
hats  with  enormous  brims,  vied  with 
greasy  and  dilapidated  Sambos  for  cus- 
tomers. Six  boats  insisted  upon  carrying 
the  same  passengers.  There  was  always 
a  ridiculous  rivalry  at  the  foot  of  the 
gangway  ladder,  and  an  incessant  bandy- 
ing of  epithets  and  threats.  And  when 
some  official  barge  hauled  in  alongside 
with  vigorous  sweep  of  oars,  there  was  a 
crash  among  the  lighter  skiffs,  a  clatter 
of  oars  and  paddles,  a  jargon  of  angry 
voices,  a  dodging  of  woolly  pates,  and 
a  rolling  of  whites  of  eyes  that  threatened 
disaster  somewhere. 

The  passenger  who  was  fortunate 
enough  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  this  rivalry 
successfully,  did  not  find  St.  George's  a 
specially  attractive  place ;  nor  will  he 
to-day.  The  hot  sun  streams  up  from 
the  dazzling  white  of  its  narrow  limestone 
street  and  is  reflected  again  from  the 
walls  on  either  side.  Houses,  neat  and 
substantial  enough,  but  without  architec- 
tural plan,  are  inconveniently  placed  in 
the  path  just  where  one  wishes  to  go. 
Streets,  lanes,  and  alleys  intersect  each 
other  in  labyrinthian  perplexity.  The 
banana  and  pawpaw  grow   in  most  im- 


342 


BERMUDA   IN  BLOCKADE    TIMES. 


probable  places,  and  dispute  with  the 
cottages  for  their  sites.  Descending  the 
hilly  roads,  the  foot  slips  into  a  gully, 
and  going  up,  the  toe  encounters  an  in- 
convenient rock.  Soldiers  in  red  coats 
flash  like  flambeaux  at  every  turn,  and 
everywhere  sailors,  blockade-runners,  cit- 
izens, merchants  and  lascivious  mulatto 
women  congregate  like  people  at  a  fair. 
The  plaza  or  open  square  is  crowded  with 
lazy  negroes  who  have  nothing  to  do ; 
not  far  away,  among  the  shipping,  is  a 
camp  of  black  women,  huddled  like  gyp- 
sies around  their  pots  and  fires,  engaged 
in  cooking  for  such  as  are  hungry  and 
not  curious  as  to  culinary  secrets.  Near 
at  hand  is  the  market  wharf,  crowded 
with  fishing  boats,  whose  sable  proprie- 
tors skin  huge  fish  with  dexterous  knives 
as  easily  as  one  draws  off  his  glove. 
These  will  always  give  good  weight  for 
an  extra  price  per  pound.  Trade  is  ac- 
tive in  all  the  shops,  and  not  one  but  has 
some  interest  in  the  blockade.  The  beer 
and  gin  shops  drive  a  thriving  business ; 
the  clothing  shops  coin  money ;  and  in 
the  larger  establishments  huge  piles  of 
blockade  goods  fill  every  nook  and 
cranny.  Every  one  has  his  hands  full  of 
business.  Ships  cannot  bring  supplies 
fast  enough.  Shops  are  repeatedly  emp- 
tied and  replenished.  The  large  hotels 
cannot  begin  to  accommodate  all  who 
apply,  even  though  the  charges  are  exor- 
bitant. Supplies  of  coals  constantly  ar- 
rive for  the  blockade  runners,  and  many 
a  swift  steamer  that  comes  from  England 
finds  her  most  profitable  venture  in  the 
direction  of  a  Confederate  port. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  things  in  the 
once  lethargic,  staid  old  town  of  St. 
George's  during  the  palmiest  days  of  the 
blockade.  Who  will  say  that  the  social 
benefits  derived  equalled  the  pecuniary 
profits?  What  old  resident  did  not 
shudder  at  the  corruption  that  danced 
attendance  upon  a  feverish  trade.  As 
every  project  and  every  venture,  in  those 
days,  looked  toward  the  southern  coast, 
of  course  the  inhabitants  were  intensely 
"secesh."  More  than  one  resident  of 
the  islands  ran  the  blockade  to  fight  the 
battles  of  the  South.  The  songs  of 
"  Dixie  "  and  the  "  Bonny  Blue  Flag  " 
were  heard  everywhere.   Even  the  negroes 


caught  the  infection,  and  sang  how  "Jeff 
Davis  is  a  gentleman  and  Abe  Lincoln  is 
a  fool."  Confederate  papers  were  re- 
ceived almost  semi-weekly.  Confederate 
flags  were  chalked  upon  the  walls  and 
gateways.  Pictures  of  prominent  south- 
erners and  of  Rebel  cruisers  adorned  the 
photograph  galleries.  Almost  every  house 
had  some  memento  of  the  Confederacy. 
British  goods  were  always  in  great  de- 
mand by  the  blockade  runners,  for  they 
would  have  no  dealings  with  Yankees. 
Accordingly  in  the  shops  could  be  found 
bushels  of  Connecticut  pins  and  cases  of 
Massachusetts  shoes  marked  "London," 
elegant  felt  hats  from  New  York  labelled 
"  Paris,"  and  good,  old  Irish  whiskey 
from  New  Jersey ;  for  there  were  many 
articles  that  could  be  purchased  cheaper 
in  the  United  States  than  in  Europe,  and 
the  laws  of  trade  are  inflexible  ■ —  "  the 
longest  pole  knocks  down  the  most  per- 
simmons." And  so  quantities  of  these 
goods  found  place  in  blockade  cargoes 
to  the  great  profit  of  speculative  patriots 
in  the  Northern  States. 

In  that  period  of  promiscuous  scram- 
bling for  wealth,  it  was  a  relief  to  escape 
from  this  contaminating  atmosphere  of 
St.  George's  to  shake  the  dust  from  the 
feet,  and  fly  at  a  spanking  gait  over  the 
hard  lime  road  toward  Hamilton.  It  is 
the  regular  mail  route,  and  a  finer  road  is 
seldom  seen.  It  is  a  luxury  to  drive  over 
such  a  road.  The  breeze  almost  always 
blows  fresh  from  the  ocean  and  tempers 
the  heat  of  the  ardent  sun.  Elegant 
equipages  are  encountered  at  frequent 
intervals,  for  they  have  fine  carriages  in 
Bermuda.  The  wheels  fly  around  with 
a  low,  pleasant  clatter  as  they  reel  off  the 
easy  miles,  and  the  horses  step  off  over 
steep  ascent  and  level  way  alike,  with  a 
gait  that  never  flags. 

Seldom  is  found  more  varied  or 
picturesque  scenery  than  among  the 
islands  of  Bermuda.  There  are  wooded 
dells  as  secluded  as  if  far  remote  from 
sea,  where  mangroves  grow  and  the  aroma 
of  the  sage  bush  perfumes  the  air.  There 
are  dark  avenues  of  cedars,  whose  dense 
foliage  shuts  out  the  sun.  Here,  on  a 
rising  knoll,  an  aristocratic  cottage  peers 
out  from  among  palmetto  groves  and 
clustering  banana  and  pawpaw.     Hedges 


BERMUDA   IN  BLOCKADE    TIMES. 


343 


of  oleander  in  luxuriant  bloom  grow  high 
above  the  limestone  walls  that  gird  the 
road,  and  through  the  vista  we  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  blue  ocean  beyond.  Then 
an  abrupt  turn  in  the  road  leads  to  a  nar- 
row neck  of  land  and  reveals  an  unob- 
structed view.  On  the  right  is  the  broad 
expanse  of  ocean,  with  snowy  sails  pen- 
cilled on  the  far  horizon,  and  sparkling 
lines  of  foam  that  break  over  the  coral 
reefs  nearer  shore  ;  on  the  left,  an  archi- 
pelago of  islets  —  some  of  them  densely 
wooded  —  with  outlines  sweeping  grace- 
fully into  all  conceivable  curves,  while 
others  are  mere  isolated  hummocks  of 
rocks,  where  the  surf  never  ceases  to 
thunder.  Now  we  cross  a  substantial 
bridge  that  joins  two  islands,  and  looking 
over  the  rail  down  into  the  deep  green 
water,  twelve  feet  or  more,  can  see  the 
large  fish  sporting  on  the  bottom.  Then 
there  is  a  ferry  to  cross,  and  after  that  the 
road  skirts  the  rocky  shore  so  closely  that 
one  can  toss  a  pebble  into  the  emerald 
sea  and  hear  the  sough  of  the  waves  that 
mom  and  murmur  in  the  selfsame  caves 
that  Calaban  knew  of  long  ago.  Here 
are  rocks  chafed  into  every  fantastic 
shape  by  the  angry  surges  which  in  storms 
dash  far  over  the  roadway.  At  intervals, 
pieces  of  wreck  are  strewn  —  relics  of 
fated  ships  lured  to  destruction  by  the 
siren  voices  of  sweet  Bermuda,  so  peace- 
ful when  the  sea  is  calm.  At  intervals 
great  watertanks  are  cut  into  the  rocky 
hillside  to  catch  the  rain,  for  the  Ber- 
mudians  have  no  wells,  and  must  pro- 
vide against  times  of  drought.  Approach- 
ing Hamilton,  the  road  turns  inland 
again,  cut  through  the  solid  rock  in  many 
places,  and  winding  over  hill  and  dale, 
through  shady  groves  of  cedar ;  past 
elegant  mansions,  half  hidden  by  foliage 
and  protected  from  intrusion  by  massive 
walls,  whose  tops  bristle  with  spikes  of 
broken  glass  laid  in  cement ;  past  little 
patches  of  arrowroot  and  sweet  potatoes  ; 
then  through  avenues  of  palmetto  and 
China  trees,  that  lead  up  to  a  pretty 
chapel  and  its  churchyard  ;  and  at  last  to 
the  coast  again,  where  there  are  romantic 
little  bays  with  houses  perched  upon  the 
very  shore,  ornamental  gardens  shut  in  bv 
seawalls,  boat-houses, bathing-houses,  and 
jaunty  yachts  at  anchor. 


All  the  buildings  in  Bermuda  are  built 
of  limestone,  for  the  whole  island  is  but 
a  quarry  ;  and  when  a  carpenter  wishes  to 
build,  he  takes  his  saw  and  saws  himself 
a  house  from  the  material  at  hand.  The 
people  are  aristocratic,  but  hospitable ; 
the  mansions  elegant,  the  gardens  spa- 
cious and  beautiful ;  the  shaded  avenues 
and  suburban  retreats  afford  many  de- 
lightful drives. 

At  Somerset  are  fine  farms  and  grazing 
fields  for  the  cattle  that  are  brought  from 
New  York  and  Nova  Scotia  for  the  Ber- 
muda market.  At  Ireland  Island  are 
spacious  storehouses  for  the  garrison,  an 
iron  floating  battery,  several  strong  forti- 
fications, and  an  extensive  quarry.  Here 
also  are  some  of  the  finest  docks  in  the 
world,  all  built  by  convict  labor  that  ex- 
tended through  many  years  of  toils  (for 
Bermuda  was  a  penal  colony  once),  and 
here  are  the  huge  wooden  hulks  in  which 
they  were  confined,  still  moored  to  the 
quay.  Some  men-of-war  are  always  sta- 
tioned here. 

What  more  need  be  said  in  praise  of 
Bermuda,  or  in  descriptive  detail?  It  is 
true  that  the  flush  times  of  the  old  block- 
ading days  have  passed  away.  The 
golden  gains  they  then  enjoyed  were  as 
transitory  as  the  so-called  Southern  Con- 
federacy itself.  The  commercial  fabric 
upon  which  many  hopes  were  built  has 
crumbled.  The  motley  crowd  of  specula- 
tors and  cormorants  that  thronged  her 
streets  is  dispersed  forever.  Her  wharves 
no  longer  swarm  with  shipping.  Once 
more  she  has  lapsed  into  the  healthful 
quiet  of  her  former  peaceful  life.  The 
little  colony  lives  and  moves  in  blissful 
independence  of  the  vexed  questions  that 
distract  the  world  outside,  unmoved  by 
the  turmoil  of  political  strife.  Her  gov- 
ernor regularly  draws  his  ample  salary, 
her  legislators  receive  their  stated  pay  for 
settling  the  momentous  affairs  of  the 
island,  and  the  citizens  are  happy  in  the 
possession  of  a  sufficiency  of  the  good 
things  of  this  life.  Invalids  still  seek  the 
genial  atmosphere  of  her  winter  months, 
and  hold  their  visits  always  in  kindly 
remembrance.  Happy  is  Bermuda  !  no 
longer  vexed  with  the  fever  of  excite- 
ment that  was  attendant  on  the  block- 
ade. 


HENRY  CLAY  AS  SPEAKER  OF  THE  HOUSE. 

By  Mary  Parker  Folk  ft 


NOTWITHSTANDING  all  that  has 
been  written  about  Henry  Clay,  his 
Speakership  has  been  neglected. 
It  was  overshadowed  by  his  later  career. 
Yet  had  Clay's  public  life  ended  in  1825, 
with  the  close  of  his  service  as  Speaker, 
that  alone  would  have  marked  him  as  one 
of  the  greatest  of  Americans.  The  ac- 
counts of  Clay's  Speakership  are  based  to 
a  great  extent  on  reminiscences  and  hear- 
say, rather  than  upon  the  records.  It  has 
been  my  purpose  to  supplement  the  per- 
sonal narrative  by  use  of  the  Congres- 
sional Journals  and  Debates.  This  ma- 
terial has  peculiar  value  because  it  dis- 
proves the  assumption  that  the  political 
development  of  the  Speaker's  power  dates 
from  recent  times.  I  hope  to  be  able  to 
show  that  Henry  Clay  was  the  first  polit- 
ical Speaker. 

The  choice  of  Clay  as  Speaker  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  in  181 1  marks 
a  great  change  in  the  spirit  of  the  Amer- 
ican people, — a  change,  first,  in  the  objects 
of  their  national  system,  and,  secondly,  in 
the  parliamentary  methods  by  which  those 
objects  were  attained.  In  181 1,  the  ac- 
tive young  Republicans,  who  were  boldly 
taking  matters  into  their  own  hands,  re- 
belled against  their  cautious  elders,  and 
demanded  a  more  vigorous  policy.  War 
with  Great  Britain  was  the  emphatic  cry. 
President  Madison  was  unfit  to  direct 
military  operations.  Congress  had  shown 
weakness  and  timidity.  A  crisis  had 
come  when  the  nation  needed  a  new 
leader,  and  needed  him  in  a  position 
which  should  correspond  to  his  conse- 
quence and  power.  The  natural  leader 
of  that  moment  was  Henry  Clay.  That 
the  position  he  was  given  from  which  to 
lead  the  country  was  the  chair  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  is  a  fact  of 
great  significance. 

The  new  principles  set  forth  during 
Clay's  long  service  were,  first,  the  in- 
crease of  the  Speaker's  parliamentary 
power ;  secondly,  the  retention  of  his 
personal  influence  ;  and,  thirdly,  the  estab- 


lishment of  his  position  as  legislative 
leader.  As  a  presiding  officer  Clay  from 
the  first  showed  that  he  considered  him- 
self not  the  umpire,  but  the  leader  of  the 
House.  His  object  was  clearly  and  ex- 
pressly to  govern  the  House  as  far  as 
possible.  In  this  he  succeeded  to  an  ex- 
tent never  before  or  since  equalled  by  a 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives. 
Clay  was  the  boldest  of  Speakers.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  disguise  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  political  officer.  Speakers  now, 
to  be  sure,  following  the  example  of  such 
predecessors  as  Clay,  seek  to  give  their 
party  every  possible  advantage  from  their 
position  in  the  Chair ;  yet,  on  occasions 
when  nothing  is  to  be  gained,  they  at- 
tempt to  keep  up  the  fiction  of  the 
Speaker  as  a  parliamentary  officer.  But 
Clay  had  no  thought  of  effacing  himself 
in  the  least  degree.  He  allowed  no  op- 
portunity of  expressing  his  attitude  on  the 
subjects  that  came  before  the  House  to 
pass  unused.  When  in  181 2  the  repeal 
of  Non-intercourse  came  up,  instead  of 
simply  throwing  his  casting-vote  with  the 
nays,  he  took  occasion  to  express  "  the 
pleasure  he  felt  in  having  opportunity  to 
manifest  his  decided  opposition  to  the 
measure."  He  was  the  first  Speaker, 
moreover,  and  one  of  very  few,  to  vote 
when  his  vote  could  make  no  difference 
in  the  result.  He  demanded  the  right 
for  the  first  time  when  the  attempt  was 
made  in  1817  to  pass  the  Internal  Im- 
provement bill  over  the  President's  veto. 
Often  ',-lay  was  very  arbitrary.  When 
Mr.  Winrhrop  became  Speaker,  Clay  gave 
him  this  advice  :  "  Decide  promptly,  and 
never  give  the  reasons  for  your  decisions. 
The  House  will  sustain  your  decisions, 
but  there  will  always  be  men  to  cavil  and 
quarrel  over  your  reasons."  His  concep- 
tion of  the  Speakership  was  too  wide  for 
the  canons  of  parliamentary  law  of  that 
time.  When  an  aim  was  set  clearly  be- 
fore him,  he  was  too  impatient  to  think 
of  choosing  between  proper  and  improper 
means.     He  took  the  means  which  would 


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